


and I, I'm letting you sink in

by buckybuck (thestarsthesea)



Series: there will be history between us two; [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:23:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsthesea/pseuds/buckybuck
Summary: A belated Valentine's Day fic.It’s late. Way too late for someone to be standing outside, throwing rocks at his window. But he’s an insomniac, and he has a feeling he knows who it is without having to check, so he scrambles off his bed and onto the worn cushion of the old-fashioned seat built-in beneath his window. Sure enough, when he peers out of the glass and into the dark yard below, he finds a familiar silhouette standing stark against the grass in the light of the moon.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: there will be history between us two; [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1279628
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	and I, I'm letting you sink in

*~**~*

It’s late. Way too late for someone to be standing outside, throwing rocks at his window. But he’s an insomniac, and he has a feeling he knows who it is without having to check, so he scrambles off his bed and onto the worn cushion of the old-fashioned seat built-in beneath his window. Sure enough, when he peers out of the glass and into the dark yard below, he finds a familiar silhouette standing stark against the grass in the light of the moon. 

He raises the pane, pushing it slow to make sure it doesn’t creak or groan like the wood sometimes does in the colder months. Bucky must hear the quiet scrape of it, though, because he looks back up from his survey of the yard, gives Tony a tired lop-sided grin and a sheepish little wave.

Howard starts to yell somewhere downstairs, and Maria spits something acidic back, the harsh back and forth starting once again, like it does every night. And it doesn’t take much thought at all before he’s snatching his wallet from the desk and climbing out of the window and down the cliche (and luckily very secure) trellis just near enough to his window to reach. Bucky grabs hold of him when he’s close enough, his hands sure and gentle when they grip Tony’s sides. 

He follows Bucky out of the yard and to the sidewalk, both of them keeping their steps quiet, though the chance of his parents hearing them over their fight is pretty nonexistent. But still, what’s the point of sneaking out with no actual sneaking?

Bucky’s parked his shitty hand-me-down Sedan a few houses down from Tony’s, so they don’t have to be careful when they close their doors. But Bucky keeps the lights out until they pass the house, and it’s a blessing he lets Tony keep the engine tuned, so it keeps the thing quiet.

He doesn’t ask where they’re going, what’s going on, why Bucky came. He just stares out the window, at the yellow street lights as they pass, at the occasional cluster of the brightest stars when there’s a space between long enough to see the dark sky. And sometimes he lets himself glance at Bucky. His hair is swaying slightly in the mediocre heat blowing full-blast from the vents (the heat is one of the many things he _won’t_ let Tony fix until he can afford to pay him for it), he’s chewing on the inside of his lip more often than he’s not, and Tony knows how Bucky gets. He knows how he gets restless on cold nights, how he hates being lonely, how he wants so much but doesn’t think he’s made to get any of it, and how bad it all aches.

They’re on the highway now, heading south, going toward the coast. He wonders if that’s where Bucky’s taking them, if he’s driving down to the cold water and sand, to the seemingly endless stretch of sky and the stars they both feel crushed and hopeful under. Painfully free and entirely insignificant all at once.

But he doesn’t ask.

Tony must doze off at some point. The constant low vibration from the tires and the hypnotic flash of each roadside light soothing him to sleep better than his two thousand dollar mattress and perfectly temperature-controlled room back home ever could. He wakes up, though, and the clock on the dash tells him a little over an hour has passed, and Bucky’s cold fingers are cradling Tony’s jaw in his hand.

He gives Tony a slow to grow grin, fuzzy and sweet around the edges, and murmurs, “Mind paying while I fill up?” Tony nods, yawning, and Bucky’s fingers slip away, back across the console and to his side of the car.

Blinking, Tony tries to shake the sleep from his mind, get rid of the slow lag that has it stuck in place. He takes the twenty Bucky’s holding out to him and steps into the chilled February air. Tony has no idea where they are, but the gas station isn’t one of those huge chains, so they can’t be anywhere significant. He pays for the gas, the bored girl at the counter barely glancing at him as he tells her the pump number. Not like it’s hard to figure out, though, there’s only two.

He heads to the back of the tiny store, stopping at the coffee, or what passes for it in a gas station in the middle of nowhere. From the smell of it it’s been sitting in the pot for at least an hour or two, but beggars can’t be choosers. He fills two of the larger cups, dumping sugar in one and cream in the other. The snacks are sad and have probably been on the shelves almost as long as he’s been alive, but he grabs a Honey Bun and Slim-Jim for Bucky and a pack of Sno Balls for himself, anyway.

The check-out girl is no more lively as she rings his few items up at a sloth’s pace, but it’s just enough time for him to gaze at the dumb novelty things by the register. State shot glasses and outdated maps, shit like that. And he doesn’t know what makes him do it, why he darts out a hand and snags it as soon as the colours catch his eye, but he does, and the keychain clinks quietly as he sets it down next to his two cups of burnt coffee.

It’s such a stupid, ugly thing, round and plastic shiny, the colours just a little bit off, diffused at the edges and not quite the right shade of pure blue, or cool red and stark white. The black font is slightly smeared and in a ridiculous Comic Sans; _you’re the CAPTAIN of my heart!_

It’s probably not even licensed, but he won’t get in trouble for a little counterfeit Captain America merch. But his stomach jumps a bit anyway as it drops into the bag with a clunk.

He digs it out as he’s leaving, shoves it into his back pocket where he can forget about it, push away the part of his brain reminding him that Captain America is Bucky’s favourite.

The car is idling at the pump, Bucky having finished and already gotten back in while Tony was paying. He’s still quiet when Tony gets in, still looks pensive and weary, but he smiles when Tony hands him the coffee and Honey Bun, and that’s good enough.

“I can’t promise greatness outta that coffee, Buck.” He says, hushed, not wanting to break the quiet of their shared little atmosphere.

Bucky’s fingers pick at the cardboard sleeve that never does anything to keep your hands from burning when the coffee is so cheap. He shrugs, and his voice is just as soft as Tony’s. “S’ok, the Honey Bun makes up for it.”

They drink their shitty coffee and keep driving, and Tony stays awake this time. He watches as the miles add up, and the clock reads 2:37, 3:41, 4:19. It’s just past four-thirty when he sees the first palm tree. Or, what passes for a palm tree in a place that’s nowhere near warm and tropical enough for them to do much but try their best not to die.

Bucky takes them straight to the shore bordering a small and sleeping town. It’s not quite sunrise yet, so the water is still ink dark, the sand glowing white under the waning moon. They get out in silence and head toward the waves, to the broad star-full sky, where it’s just starting to turn the deepest navy at the horizon.

They stand side by side in the sand, their heads tilted up, and Tony doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know why they’re here, why Bucky came to get him at one in the morning on a Wednesday night.

But it’s cold and windier here near the ocean of a tourist town than it was back home, and neither of them are dressed enough to keep out the icy chill of it. After a few minutes of silence, Bucky reaches out and tugs on the sleeve of Tony’s tshirt, inclining his head back in the direction of the car. Tony’s teeth have started to rattle, so he doesn’t hesitate from nodding and letting Bucky drag him back. The heat is still shit, but at least there’s no wind.

Bucky doesn’t stay idling in park, though, he starts the car and drives it over to a sleepy, sand-worn McDonalds Tony didn’t even notice driving in. But it’s right on the beach, the big windows facing the water and the sky. It’s also much warmer to sit in than a car with nearly non-existent heat, so Tony settles in a booth, with his back to the window so Bucky can still look out and watch the sunrise.

They share an order of nuggets and fries, too tired or too content to say much, but there’s only a few fries left on the tray when Bucky digs something out of his wallet and lays it next to Tony’s sweating drink.

It’s a valentine. A silly little kid’s thing with a bright green alien, hearts in its eyes as he floats in front of an Earth-like planet, a cartoony font declaring: _You’re Out Of This World, Valentine!_ Tony chuckles at the silliness of it, pulling it close and opening the cheap folded card stock. There’s nothing else printed on the inside, no cheesy one-liner, but instead, in Bucky’s blocky scrawl it says; _ there’s no one else I want to watch the stars with_.

Tony swallows hard, feels warm from head to toe. He glances up, sees Bucky’s bright, waiting eyes and closes the card. He leans up so he can push his fingers into his pocket and grasp the body warm circle of cheap metal and resin. He places it on the table with a clink, the chain dragging under his wrist so Bucky will be able to read it, and slides it across the scratched, sticky tabletop. He picks up his hand, watches as Bucky grins at the obvious theme of it, then as he reads what it says, sees when the grin turns aching soft, and follows his fingers as they brush over the bright white star, then the small and slanted _heart_.

His eyes are warm when he looks up from the keychain and catches Tony’s gaze, shining and content. He looks light and peaceful for the first time tonight. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Tony.”

Tony shifts under the table, lets his leg rest against Bucky’s, revels in the way his heart jumps when he feels Bucky press back. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Buck.”

*~**~*

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!!! Well, a day and a few minutes late, anyway lol
> 
> If you were to ask me where or when this fic takes place I would not be able to tell you. It's not New York and it's not now, that's all I know. So let's just accept the ambiguity and move on, okay fam?
> 
> Title Credit: Sink In by Amy Shark  
Disclaimer: I own no recognizable properties in this work.
> 
> No beta, like all my other works, sorry for any mistakes!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this short little bit of fluff about two lonely teenage boys kinda clinging to each other!  
Thank you for reading!!  
<333


End file.
